240 THE BONDS OF AFRICA 



to the land of the Pharaohs from this heart of 

 commerciahzed Africa. The mother river of 

 North Africa tumbles over the Ripon Falls and 

 wends its way to the Mediterranean as calmly 

 independent as it did when the Mamelukes ruled 

 Egypt, as little perturbed at the advent of the 

 steam-engine and the Powers of Europe as is the 

 sun at the flight of an aeroplane. 



There are few more productive themes of 

 fancy than to ponder on the life-story of a great 

 river, to conjure up visions of the nations it 

 has nurtured, the fleets of conquest it has floated, 

 the years of famine and plenty that its caprices 

 have borne. And especially is this true of the 

 Nile. 



I remember sitting one evening on a little 

 mound overlooking the first flow of Nile water 

 in Usoga. The roar of the torrent over the lip 

 of Nyanza came from behind me as the breaking 

 of the surf on the pebbled beach, and the gentle 

 rhythm of the flowing waters over a myriad of 

 miniature cascades, through a multitude of 

 little swirling whirlpools, northwards ever north- 

 wards, sounded faint and indistinct like the bells 

 on cattle sound when church chimes are pealing 

 their loudest on a quiet English Sunday evening. 

 Across the Ripon Falls spurwinged geese hastened 

 their sundown flight. The trees on either side 

 of the river took on the sombre gown of eve, 

 and the rocks which break the flow of the waters, 

 and which in the light of midday had seemed 

 gaunt and ugly, grew soft and picturesque as 

 night fell over hill-wreathed sea, laughing river 

 and tropic shore. A slender thread of silver 

 twisted in and out of the lovely land : the Nile 

 at the first milestone on its troubled flight to the 

 blue of the Mediterranean. 



